


Clouds of White

by IndianSummer13



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cupcakes, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndianSummer13/pseuds/IndianSummer13
Summary: It’s only a bake sale. Shelovesmaking cupcakes. Only, there’s River Vixens practice, a test to study for, stories to write for the Blue and Gold and a whole host of other demands that shouldn’t make her want to dig her nails into her palm. Except they do.Or, everything’s piling up and to top it off, Betty just can’t seem to get the right consistency for her frosting. Enter Jughead...





	Clouds of White

Betty glances at the clock: 8:13pm. Her breath catches high in her throat and her fingertips twitch as she surveys the kitchen. The cupcakes are spread out before her like little golden hills, all perfectly sweet and vanillary and delicious - trays and trays of them waiting patiently for their coats of frosting and sprinkles.

She tries not to look at the bowls stacked by the sink or the dusting of flour every surface seems to have gotten, but she’s always been one for the detail in a situation and right now, said detail is telling her that she’s going to be in here for at least another two hours.

That in itself wouldn’t be a problem. There’s the (not so) small matter of tomorrow’s biology test though, and the homework essay on America’s recent financial troubles and the resulting recession - which she’d normally be psyched to write about, except she hasn’t even done the reading yet - and it’s due in three days’ time. The Bulldogs have a huge game coming up against Greendale too, so Cheryl’s on overdrive ensuring the Vixens’ routine is complete polished perfection.

Betty lingers on the word and forces herself to swallow. These cupcakes aren’t going to frost themselves.

The butter goes into the bowl first, followed by the powdered sugar - clouds of it rising so her entire face feels sticky when she’s done measuring it out. Next it’s the vanilla - not too much because she doesn’t want to give people that headache you get when the frosting is too sickly sweet. The only ingredient left to add is the milk, which she does, albeit a little (okay, a lot) too liberally. 

She feels something akin to panic thrum along her veins and huffing, she takes the bowl to the sink and pours out the milk that hasn’t mixed into the sugar. Once she’s rectified the situation as much as possible, Betty sets the bowl back onto the mixer stand and switches in on. Distracted by the milk fiasco however, she realises too late that she’s forgotten to set a towel over it to stop the sugar clouds from forming, and the counter gets its third coating of white powder that evening. 

Whether it’s the milk or something else, Betty doesn’t know, but the perfect white vanilla frosting she’s made with ease every single time she bakes currently resembles melted ice cream. Not adequate at all, she determines, for her cupcakes.

Her next plan is to try and pull it back. It’s too runny, so that means it needs more powdered sugar, right? She dumps a cup-full into the bowl, almost chokes on the cloud of dry sweetness, and then adds in another cup for good measure. She can always add more milk is it’s too thick this time. This is, however, a buttercream frosting, so Betty drops in a tablespoon of Land O’ Lakes and hopes for the best when she turns the mixer back on.

It’s safe to say that the best does not come.

When she ends up with this time, is a slightly lumpy (but on the plus side, _thicker_ ) icing. It’s still not perfect. The clock catches her eyes again and this time, it displays 8:27pm. Her toes scrunch involuntarily and her heart seems to thump harder in her chest. She doesn’t notice the sting in her palms until she reaches to turn the mixer back on and has to release her nails from the broken skin.

Something escapes her lips: not a sob per se, but more of a frustrated strangled breath as the machine whirs into action. She just needs to decorate these cakes. And then clean the kitchen. And take a shower. And somehow memorise four chapters of her textbook. Oh, and get to school an hour and a half early for morning River Vixens practice tomorrow. 

Another one of those sounds leaves her lips and this time, Betty sinks her nails into her palms consciously. 

Her few seconds of relief - of something else masking the panic and the crushing weight of responsibility - is shattered by a knock at the door sounding vaguely like it belongs to….

“Hey Betty.” Jughead enters without invitation, surveying the scene before him. “Wow, did you have an explosion in here or…” he trails off, waving a hand through the cloud of powdered sugar lingering in the air. “Seriously Betts, are you quitting the Blue and Gold to become the next Martha Stewart or something?” 

She’s supposed to laugh, she recognises. But she can’t manage to pull the sound she wants from her lungs, and so she’s forced to settle on, “There’s a bake sale tomorrow.”

“Of course,” he replies. “Southside High’s was last week.”

She’s supposed to laugh again, or at least manage a smile at the notion of his school doing anything remotely as middle-class as hosting a charity bake sale. And she tries - she really does - but the corners of her mouth just won’t seem to do as they’re told and instead, her lip wobbles a little. 

“Betty?” Jughead questions, stepping closer. 

The mixer’s still whirring and her palms are now throbbing but all of a sudden, there’s a rush of something Betty isn’t prepared for and without realising what her body’s doing, she’s crying hot, salty tears that land on her lips and then descend towards her jaw. 

She’s overwhelmed by him in an instant: his smell, his touch, the sound of his voice murmuring something indistinguishable in her ear, but that low timbre he speaks in that’s so uniquely _him_ is slowly extinguishing that incessant coursing of panic in her veins so she can breathe again.

He has her hands tucked neatly inside one of his, clutched close to his chest so he can hold her with the other one. He already _knows_. 

“I can’t get the frosting right,” Betty hears herself whispering against his neck. She feels him exhale deeply against her crown but he doesn’t let her go. Instead, she stays pressed to him in all of the comforting assurance he offers without even trying. 

Eventually though, she does step back and the way he’s looking at her is so overwhelming that she averts her eyes, noting now that the time is 8:32 and the cupcakes are still sitting in their trays - minus any sweet topping. 

“It’s stupid,” she says, sniffing. “They’re just cupcakes.”

They both know that isn’t strictly true. 

“It’s not stupid Betts,” Jughead tells her, dusting his hands up and down her arms. He always seems to know what to do to calm her and yet she’s wasting more time by standing here like this when what she should be doing is any one of the million more productive tasks queueing up. “But uh...hang on.”

He switches the mixer off and a stillness settles throughout the kitchen when he returns to her, his palms either side of her face so he can look at her. 

“Your eyelashes,” he smiles. “They’re coated in powdered sugar.”

Her lids sweep downwards as she inhales his _Jughead_ scent and he brushes his lips lightly across each one. Betty thinks a sigh might slip past her own lips as she rests against him. 

“And your nose,” he continues, nuzzling it with his own so that when she opens her eyes, she can’t help but laugh a little at the dusting of white now on his skin. “And your lips.” She already knows what’s coming next and sometimes she just wants to cry with how gentle he is with her. How he always, _always_ gets it.

“Go take a shower,” Jughead instructs. “I’ve got it in here.”

“But the frosting -”

“- Will be fine.”

She sighs, her mouth ready to protest at his offer but she’s so unbelievably tired that the words stutter and die somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. In the end, all she does is nod. “Okay.”

She’s halfway out of the kitchen when she turns to look back at him, beanie and jacket already off, sleeves rolled up and inspecting the frosting in the bowl. “Jug?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He grins like he always does when she says it, and Betty can’t help but grin back. “Shower, Betts.”

She goes at his instruction, and hears his voice again when she’s halfway up the stairs. “I love you too.”

X

By the time she returns to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and an old sweatshirt, every single cupcake has been frosted to (and she hates to use this word these days, but _perfection_ ) and seems to be complete with sprinkles too. Jughead is stacking the dishwasher, the counter free of the white powder it’d been lying under before she showered, and looking at complete ease. Betty can’t help but gasp. And feel her heart swell even more for this boy she should’ve loved a lot earlier than she did. 

He turns at her presence. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she smiles, crossing to lay a kiss to his shoulder. “How long was I in there?”

He doesn’t say anything, just offers a somewhat coy smile. “Maybe I’m just a fast worker.”

“Juggie seriously, you didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing and continues stacking the dishwasher. 

“ _Hey_.” Stopping so he can look at her again, he watches her face, lips twitching into a smile when hers do. Her words are caught again, but she doesn’t need them this time, just lets her lips tell him how grateful she is. He tastes like vanilla and sweetness and Betty wonders whether this is what she tastes like to him when she orders those vanilla milkshakes at Pop’s. “Thank you.”

“You want one?” he asks, seemingly uncomfortable with her gratitude. “I could make you some tea while you study for that biology test tomorrow.”

“How’d you know about -”

“-You told me a week ago,” Jughead says softly, holding back a wave of her hair so he can kiss her again. “Plus…” he glances at the cupcakes and then holds both of her palms in his. “I knew this wasn’t just about the frosting. Go get your textbook.”

For a moment, her legs won’t work. Maybe, she suspects, they don’t want to carry her away from him and all the goodness he exudes. “Are you -”

He steals her last word with a kiss. “- I’m sure.” 

She studies and Jughead finishes clearing up before setting her down a mug of tea and a cupcake, coffee for himself, and then a small bowl of what looks like the spare frosting. Betty takes a bite of the cake in between finishing off a paragraph about cell division and starting one on its cycle and is overwhelmed by the taste.

“Oh my God,” she moans. “Juggie, this is amazing!”

He closes his eyes, taking a breath and then offers a wry smile when he opens them again. “Please don’t make noises like that when you look like you do.”

Betty’s ears pinken at the tips, kind of embarrassed but also... _not_. “Sorry.”

He takes her hand in his, careful ( _always_ so careful with her) not to press against the newly imprinted crescents. “Don’t be sorry. Just…” he’s smiling again and she can’t help but return it. Sometimes, he’s like a damn sugar high all on his own. “You need to study and I’m gonna sit here with my coffee and my frosting and respect that.”

She can’t help but chuckle. “It’s not so great for your teeth.” She slides closer and blushes a little when Jughead makes an obvious attempt at trying to hide his piqued interest. He fails, naturally. “The frosting I mean. You wouldn’t want to get cavities.”

“So what’re you proposing?” 

“That I thank you properly,” she whispers, butterflying kisses to his neck. “So you won’t need a dentist.”

He pulls back though, suddenly serious and sobering. “You know that’s not why I helped, right?”

“I know.” And she does. She just really wants to thank him.

“Then this is good enough for now,” he says softly, dusting his own lips across the skin of Betty’s neck. “Study and sleep and thank me on Friday night.” He winks but he’s serious and her heart clenches. “And uh...call me,” he adds, uncurling her fingers to inspect her palms. “If you want to do this again.”

She nods and rests her head against his shoulder.

She passes the test. The cupcakes sell out. The Bulldogs beat the Greendale Giants and she holds Cheryl steady on the pyramid during the Vixens’ halftime routine. She fits in a couple stories for the Blue and Gold. The red crescents on her palm fade a little.

Oh, and she thanks Jughead on Friday night. Somehow, he still tastes like vanilla frosting.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure I've ever written anything this fluffy before. Still...  
> Comments are always greatly appreciated.


End file.
